


Chartreuse

by SatiricalDraperies



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Ex-Con Eames, Fluff, M/M, alcohol mention, artist Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatiricalDraperies/pseuds/SatiricalDraperies
Summary: Chartreuse, Arthur decides, isdefinitelyhis colour.Upon voicing this opinion, however, all Eames says in response is a shocked “gesundheit, darling!Whatdid you just say?” Arthur rolls his eyes, but plays along.





	Chartreuse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IAmANonnieMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/gifts).



> I hope you like this! It was a delight to write :)

Chartreuse, Arthur decides, is _definitely_ his colour. 

Upon voicing this opinion, however, all Eames says in response is a shocked “gesundheit, darling! _What_ did you just say?” Arthur rolls his eyes, but plays along. 

“ _Chartreuse_ , Mr. Eames,” he says, rolling his r. Ariadne laughs, a welcome noise. It’s only been a month since the Fischer job, and she’s still dealing with the fallout. Eames was the one who suggested they spend some time together dreaming just for fun, as a way for her to fall back in love with the wonders of dreamshare. 

She isn’t the only one who’s falling back in love with something, though. Arthur can’t help but smile at Eames as he does his best Arthur forgery but with a distinctive Eamesian twist to the colour palette, whether he knows the name of the colour or not.

* * *

Chartreuse. Eames keeps the word in mind as he walks through the entire goddamn menswear department store. How the bloody hell is he supposed to find something _chartreuse_? All he needed to find was a tie, or something. Anything! Why couldn’t Arthur’s favorite colour be red, or blue, or anything easier to find than chartreuse? You can take the point man out of the art school, but clearly you can’t take the art school out of the point man. 

The sales assistant is clearly new to the job and doesn’t know quite what to make of Eames. He’s definitely a student, fresh out of university by the looks of it. Business, Eames decides. Probably wants to be manager of this store someday. Certainly a better aspiration than Eames, who figured that after dropping out of university, he’d end up running cons for the rest of his life, or at least until the cops caught up with him. Thank God for Arthur bailing him out when he did, or that might’ve become reality. 

Eames shudders to think of it. 

The moment passes.

He’s still staring down the sales assistant, who finally asks if he needs help.

“Yeah, actually,” Eames says. “Do you have anything chartreuse?”

“Ummm,” the man says. “You do realize this is a clothing store, right?”

“Yes,” Eames answers, tersely. “What makes you think that I could be so daft as to walk past all these racks of shirts and _not_ realize that this is a clothing store?”

“Well, uh,” he’s _very_ uncomfortable now. Did Eames come on too strong? What did he say? “Didn’t you say you were looking for liqueur?”

“No? But I might need some if you can’t find me anything in the colour chartreuse in the entire store.”

“The colour?” 

How daft is this man?

“Of course the colour! What else could chartreuse be?” Considering that Eames didn’t know that chartreuse was a colour until earlier today, he should probably give the man a break. But then again, he is Mr. Eames, notorious forger, and giving breaks is not one of his specialities.

“I used to work in a bar, and we sold Chartreuse liqueur. Lovely green colour?”

“Yes, I’m _quite_ familiar with the colour. You mean to tell me that Chartreuse is a type of _liqueur_? And it’s _bright green_? You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

“I wouldn’t describe it as _bright_ , per se, but—” Eames cuts him off.

“Never mind,” he says. “Just tell me where I can buy some.”

* * *

Arthur doesn’t remember that it’s his birthday until he gets a text from Ariadne that, in no uncertain terms, wishes him an AWESOMEEE DAY!!!!!!!! <333 

Less than ten seconds later, Yusuf’s requesting to video call. He accepts, begrudgingly. 

“Hi Arthur!” Yusuf says cheerfully, his face taking up the entire screen. He’s at an odd angle. The phone must be propped up against something. “Eames told me it was your birthday!”

That bastard.

Yusuf backs away from the camera. He pulls out a violin and starts to play ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. The violin isn’t tuned, and it’s clear that Yusuf hasn’t been playing for long. Arthur counts at least five cats that walk across the screen in the thirty second interval, and he could swear that he hears a couple more in the background.

“Hope you liked it!” Arthur forces his grimace into something resembling a smile and nods.

“It was… great! Thanks, really,”

“Happy birthday!” Yusuf fumbles around for a bit, knocking his phone over, before the call finally ends. Thank God.

Arthur thinks through the list of people he knows. Ariadne… already texted him. Yusuf… well, whatever _that_ was, it already happened. Dom doesn’t have his current number, not after that shit he pulled on the Fischer job. That’s just about everyone he knows. Is it sad that he can count them all on one hand? 

And then there’s Eames, of course, who he just _knows_ is going to have some awful surprise planned for him. Arthur _can’t_ wait.

* * *

Eames has been everywhere looking for this bottle. It’ll be the perfect birthday gift for Arthur! There is no possible way this can go wrong.

Eames arrives back to their flat at 7:30 sharp. By this point, Arthur will probably be almost done with dinner. Eames pictures him setting the table, pining and waiting for his husband to get home and shower him with love. He quickly scoffs the image away. Even before they were, you know, a thing, Arthur never _pined_. He was much too sophisticated for that, fresh out of university with a degree for the visual arts and a proficiency for the martial arts. Eames smiles to think of it.

He knocks on the door, holding the bottle and a bouquet of flowers out in front of him. He imagines Arthur opening the door, gasping, falling into his arms and kissing him, proclaiming that he’s the best husband ever.

But this is Arthur, and so of course that’s not what happens at all.

The door opens and Arthur immediately has him in a sleeper hold. Eames lifts his arms in surrender.

“It’s just me, darling!”

Arthur releases him, spinning him around and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Did you tell the whole world it was my birthday?” He looks pissed, and Eames can’t understand why.

“Just Yusuf and—”

“ _Just_ Yusuf?” Arthur exclaims. “I had to listen to him play ‘Happy Birthday’ on the most _terribly_ tuned violin I’ve ever heard while all five hundred of his cats were yelling in the background, and you say that you told _just_ Yusuf?”

“In my defense,” Eames offers. “I didn’t know he played violin.”

“You bastard,” Arthur says, but he’s smiling as he pulls back from Eames. “I can’t believe I married you.”

And then he’s _finally_ kissing Eames the way he’s been dreaming about all day, and it’s everything he imagined it to be, until he pushes Arthur up against a wall and hears a definite breaking of glass.

“Dear,” Arthur says calmly. “What was that?”

Eames pulls away and looks at the green stain spreading all over Arthur’s freshly pressed white shirt.

“Oops,” he says. “That was your birthday gift.”

Arthur looks at the shards of the bottle Eames is still holding.

“Chartreuse?”

“Well,” Eames grins. “You did say it was your colour.”


End file.
